The Monday After
by JMcK
Summary: They think they know what happened. They don't.


_Author's note: This is a story I considered a couple of years ago, but held off on for reasons that may or may not be clear by the end of this. It doesn't feel so wrong now. I suppose my point is that when I came up with this, Haley was still alive and Will was in the picture but just as an out-of-town boyfriend… Please forgive any timeline inconsistencies. _

**The Monday After**

JJ couldn't remember turning into the parking lot.

It happened, sometimes. When she was too tired, too stressed, too distracted.

Chunks of her morning drive failed to register.

Usually she took that as a wakeup call that maybe she shouldn't be behind the wheel.

Today she hit the gas and flew into her usual spot, scraping her rear door against the concrete foundation of a street light.

It sounded awful and probably looked worse.

And it felt good.

She locked up and made her way toward the building.

Feeling every step.

And dreaming of retreating into whatever anonymous hotel room would be her home for the night.

It was getting to that moment that was her challenge.

She just wanted to get through the day without losing it.

That was it. All she wanted.

It wasn't so much to ask for.

"Morning, JJ!"

Reid's chipper voice broke into her thoughts.

And she wanted to cry.

She couldn't even get to her damn office uninterrupted.

"How did you enjoy your weekend?" he asked conversationally, and the bitch of it was that he was actually interested.

He was looking right at her, and he was nothing if not observant.

And it was like clockwork. Three… two… one…

"Are you okay?"

Fucking profilers.

"You don't look like you got much sleep," he noted. "You've got circles." He gestured to his own eyes.

She bit back a response about who the hell he was to talk to anyone else about circles under the eyes.

"Guess I didn't," she told him simply, continuing toward the building. "You have a good weekend?"

He sidestepped her attempt to turn the conversation around, told her:

"It's understandable, after what happened Friday. It totally is. But you actually look pale."

He matched her step for step, and as they breezed through security and into the stuffy elevator, she knew exactly what he was about to do.

Some days she found his rambling endearing.

Other days, not so much.

"Studies suggest that up to twenty-five percent of Caucasian women about your age are anemic, some so severely that the pallor of their skin becomes so pronounced that…"

She tuned him out. Watched the indicator lights as they moved from floor to floor.

They refused to move at their usual pace.

The elevator was crawling.

And she felt a weight on her chest like she'd forgotten to take off her Kevlar.

Sweat gathered on her back and neck, even as air conditioning blew in her face.

For half a second she thought she might throw up, which seemed absolutely ridiculous.

And then the elevator doors finally opened, and a moment later she was in her own office.

She knew she'd have all of about ten minutes to enjoy her solitude.

Then she had to face a whole room full of the trained-to-observe.

…

She made it through briefing the team.

Sitting on the plane, in the aisle seat she'd chosen next to Emily and across from Reid and Morgan, she nodded along as brainstorming and spit-balling commenced.

Disorganized, sure.

Delusional, yep.

It all flew by her.

Until Morgan opened his mouth.

"We don't even know for a fact these first two are connected. Why's this even a BAU case?"

She'd fixed him with a stony gaze before she even realized it. And she snapped at him before she could stop herself:

"I picked this case, Hotch approved this case, so whether you think it's worthy of your macho heroism or not? This is what we're working."

Everything went dead silent.

Pride kept her from dropping her gaze to the tabletop, so she held Morgan's gaze instead, standing behind what she'd said, despite the way she'd said it.

It was Hotch that bailed her out, though he didn't take sides:

"Well, we're certainly not turning the jet around. Let's stay on task, please?"

Reid launched into a theory he had about erotomanics, and everyone was mercifully distracted.

But when she got up to go to the coffee maker, Morgan followed her.

"Hey, no offense intended, no hard feelings here," he said simply. Smiling, handing her a coffee mug from the shelf. Smooth as ever. "No harm, no foul?"

When she said nothing, focused on pouring herself a cup, he added:

"I wasn't trying to question your work, JJ. I get that you pick and choose these things carefully. Guess maybe I didn't think it through."

"You never do," she told him, knowing she sounded harsh, even though she spoke quietly.

And she could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away.

But this was all his fucking fault.

So who the hell cared?

…

Before they landed, Hotch handed out the usual verbal assignments, choosing to send Emily and JJ to the morgue to talk with the medical examiner.

And so JJ found herself in the passenger seat of an SUV, listening to Emily blather about something or other that Garcia had said or done recently, and scanning the last twelve text messages Will had sent.

All of them had gone unanswered.

As had his three voicemails.

The phone buzzed in her hands, and the call display told her that Will was calling again.

Likely about to leave voicemail number four.

"Who are you ignoring?" Emily asked curiously.

And the truth would invite too many unwelcome questions.

So instead, JJ threw out the first explanation that came to mind.

"Haley," she spit out, and then took a second to think it through. "She was using me as a sort of go-between. With Hotch. If he won't answer his phone, she calls me."

"And if you don't answer your phone?"

"Hopefully she gets the point and stops calling," JJ told her, aware that there was a bit of bite in her tone, and realizing that she was hoping Will would take the hint and stop, himself. Which wasn't fair. But she didn't have the energy to worry about 'fair' today.

"What's up?" Emily asked her suddenly, making her wish she'd kept that hard note out of her voice.

"Hmmm?" JJ played dumb.

"What's going on with you today?" Emily sounded genuinely, if mildly, concerned.

And JJ didn't want any part of that.

"Monday blues," JJ tried.

"You say that like we work a nine-to-five," Emily returned, clearly not quite buying it.

Before JJ could come up with a reply, her phone started buzzing again.

She glanced at the call display only for Emily's benefit.

It was Will.

Of course, it was Will.

"Haley again?" Emily asked.

"Yep."

They sat in silence until the phone stopped buzzing.

All of five seconds later, it started up again.

"What's her problem?" Emily asked.

JJ didn't answer.

She was too busy keeping her breathing even.

Trying to hide the fact that she wanted to scream.

She couldn't deal with Will today.

He'd done nothing wrong and she knew it.

Hell, most women would probably crave the attention.

But he wanted to come up for the weekend, and that would mean seeing him.

And she wasn't sure she could look him in the eye.

When they finally pulled up outside the local morgue, her phone was buzzing yet again.

She jumped out of the car almost before Emily had it stopped, and, holding up a finger that told Emily to give her just one minute, she answered.

"Listen, I'm working. I've got Emily waiting for me, which isn't fair. So unless this is some kind of emergency…?"

His wounded voice drawled:

"You tell me. What the hell's going on with us, JJ?"

"I'm working," she told him again.

And then she hung up, and looked up to find Emily watching her from a few feet away.

"Sorry about that." JJ tried, heading for the building.

"JJ…"

"I'm fine," JJ snapped, hoping Emily would catch the 'back the fuck off' tone in her voice.

Emily actually took a visible step back, holding up her hands in a gesture that said something like 'sorry for caring'.

Flooded with fresh guilt, JJ held up her own hands, as if in surrender.

"I'm sorry," she started, figuring a good half-truth was in order. "Will and I had a fight and he's been hounding me all day and I just… had a moment. I'm sorry."

Emily looked her over.

"You want to tell me what the fight was about?"

"We're working," JJ insisted, heading for the building again.

"Then let's get dinner tonight," Emily tried.

"If we have time." JJ consented.

But Emily gave her a look as she held open the door.

One that said she knew avoidance when she saw it.

And JJ wouldn't be getting away with it for long.

…

JJ had that look in mind later in the day when she volunteered to canvas potential witnesses with Morgan.

They were going into drug territory, and Morgan should have been the last person she wanted to work with.

But it was him or Emily, and he'd ask fewer questions.

In fact, he said very little beyond mapping out a route along the few blocks they had to travel.

They'd talked to six people and learned nothing before they came upon a 20-something gangster type with one hand down his pants and the other tucked into his jacket.

Morgan held up the photo of their suspect without a word. The younger man smiled, prompting Morgan to pull out his wallet.

"What's it gonna take?"

The guy turned his focus to JJ. Leering, looking her over.

"What'll she give me?"

Morgan scowled and advanced on the guy, prompting him to pull his hand from under his jacket –

And JJ didn't think, almost didn't realize what she was doing –

All she knew was that she had her gun trained on the 'witness' in a flash.

And Morgan was calling her name.

"Show her your hands," Morgan more asked than commanded, and the guy held out his empty palms.

She shoved her gun back in its holster, nodding at Morgan. His expression asked what the hell she was thinking, and she avoided his eyes, stepped away.

She could hear him ask:

"You seen this guy or not?"

And the man must have shook his head 'no', because a minute later Morgan was at her side, matching her step for step as she made her way to their car.

"What was that?"

She counted to five silently before she answered him.

"That was me being hyper-vigilant. Report me."

He moved around her, got in her face, and she could see the confusion behind the frustration in his eyes, but she couldn't care.

"Is Friday messing with your head that bad?" he demanded.

And she couldn't stop the rush of anger at those words from his lips any more than she could stop the response that tumbled from her mouth:

"Fuck you," she muttered.

And she knew, the second she'd said it, that there would be no keeping up appearances after this.

…

She'd imagined the knock on her hotel room door about a hundred times before it finally came.

She opened the door for Hotch, reluctantly stood aside to let him enter.

"I'm sorry," she told him, immediately upon closing the door. "I went too far."

He just looked at her for a moment.

"I'm concerned," he finally told her.

"You don't need to be. I didn't actually break any code of conduct."

"I'm concerned because you don't go too far." He paused, gave her a chance to say something. When she didn't, he added: "Morgan, yes. Rossi, maybe. Even Prentiss. But you, with people, even with suspects. You don't go too far."

"Aren't you the one who's always telling me that it's okay to be human now and then?"

"You snapped at Morgan. Twice," he said, as if he hadn't even heard her. "And you repeated some of the same details at least three times when you briefed the team."

That threw her. She hadn't even been aware of that.

"Hotch --"

"It's okay to need to take a day. Or two." He sounded sympathetic. "After what happened on Friday --"

"Hotch --"

"You don't have to be fine just because you think the rest of us would be."

"Look, Hotch, in all honesty – honestly, okay? – You're way off base."

At that he looked her over again. Probably because she sounded sincere (and she was), and he'd been completely convinced he knew what her problem was.

A long moment of silence passed between them.

Finally, he said:

"All the same, take a day or two."

"I don't need it," she said immediately.

"It's not your decision," he told her, and if she hadn't been busy feeling trapped and offended, she might have appreciated that his eyes were sad, because he'd never had to have this kind of conversation with _her_ before.

He turned and left before she could come up with a response, and she stood still and silent and well aware of her own breathing as she processed what had just happened.

She couldn't have two days off.

Two days off would force her to deal.

Work was, if nothing else, a distraction.

And she wanted it back.

…

She was tearing down the hall almost before she knew it.

And she was tearing into Morgan almost before she realized Emily and Reid were standing next to his bed.

"_Tattling to Mommy_ on me, Big Man?" she spat, and she didn't care about the shocked looks flying her way. "Alpha male, right? Does it bother you to that you perpetuate the stereotype? Just a big dumb guy who can't handle a woman getting to make a call? Guess while I'm forced off the job, maybe you can pick the cases worthy of your muscle?"

"JJ --" Morgan tried to break in --

"No, it's all right. You're a guy! It's all about action, right? Talking a suspect down, that's just silly. You gotta tackle something!"

And he got in her face again, the others looking on.

"Is that what this is? Is that _really_ what this is? You're on me like you've dipped into some confiscated stash because of _Friday_? JJ Girl, you gotta get over that. I did what I do and this time it didn't pay off, but that vest you wear? It's there for a reason and it did its thing, too."

"Did it?" she challenged.

"I know it's a scare, but if you can't take the heat you oughta get out of the damn kitchen!"

"Fuck you!"

"You can't take takin' one in the vest --"

"I was pregnant, you son of a bitch!"

There it was, out loud, before she even knew it, and there was no taking it back.

And fuck, fuck, fuck if they didn't all shut up and stare.

…

She shrugged off all the concerned looks and left for home in a rental car.

Two days of forced leave were two days of forced leave, and she sure as hell wasn't going to spend them making eye contact with anyone she knew well.

She'd been home, curled up on her couch and agonizing about what to tell Will, for less than an hour when there was a knock on her door.

It took all of a second and a half for her to realize who it would be.

And all of three seconds for her to realize she actually wanted to go ahead and open the door and let Garcia in.

When the door was open, it turned out Garcia didn't have words.

She just wrapped JJ up in a hug JJ was sure she didn't deserve.

"What did they tell you?" JJ managed to ask without breaking down.

"Everything," Garcia told her.

"I owe Derek an apology," JJ admitted.

"Jaje, I guarantee you, he's thinking it's the other way around."

"He'd be wrong," JJ muttered, and then tears welled up and she couldn't quite see Garcia as she let her lead them both over to the couch. "It wasn't his fault," she acknowledged, hearing the break in her own voice.

"It wasn't yours, either," Garcia told her.

"I had no business in Kevlar. I was stupid. I told myself I'd just give myself some time, let the idea of a baby sink in. And then I strapped on a gun and a vest like it was nothing."

"Jaje, how many times have you strapped on that vest?"

JJ just looked at her, so she asked a follow up question:

"And how many times have you needed it?"

JJ said nothing to that, understanding her point.

But she asked, after a moment:

"What am I supposed to tell Will?"

"That a horrible and unforeseeable thing happened? Jaje, will you please just sit here with me and take a breath?"

It took a moment, but JJ crumbled at the invitation, and let her head fall onto Garcia's shoulder.

"I made a complete fool out of myself today," JJ murmured after a moment.

"Nobody cares. I mean, everybody cares. But nobody cares," Garcia assured her. "They all understand. They just want you to take a couple of days to deal."

There was silence for a moment, and a heavy, painful sigh on JJ's part.

Then Garcia told her:

"Also? You should know? I'm not moving from this spot until you get that you've got nothing to be sorry for."

JJ reached out and squeezed her hand at that.

There were days she wished she could shoot James Colby Baylor all over again.

She felt tears overtake her once more, and she wasn't even sure why.

She wasn't sure how much of what she was feeling was loss, or how much was guilt, or shame.

She forced herself to sit up, to look Garcia in the eye and allow for some truth:

"I know these things happen every day. I get that far worse things happen to far better people --"

"Oh, Jaje," Garcia cut her off with a whisper. "Jaje, there are no better people."

Garcia reached out to wipe a tear from JJ's face with her thumb.

And JJ looked at her.

And with that moment –

With the _simple, pure conviction_ with which Garcia _believed those words_ –

JJ let herself feel just a little bit comforted.

Maybe it would be okay.

Maybe Will would understand.

Maybe the team would, too.

Maybe she'd even sleep tonight.

Maybe, she'd gotten through the day.

…


End file.
